


Storm Cloud Shadows

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Series: Night Hymns [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sherlock, Consequences, M/M, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 12:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks after a night John can't remember, Sherlock comes to him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm Cloud Shadows

Three weeks after the night John Watson couldn't remember, he lay awake in bed watching out the high window, storm clouds deepening the night. The stairs creaked and he drew his knees a little higher. The bed dipped nearly silently behind him as Sherlock drew back the cover’s and slipped beneath them.

"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly, even as Sherlock stretched along his back, tucking his knees behind John's and resting a cold hand on the sliver of bare skin where his shirt had ridden up.

"I have missed you," Sherlock's voice was just as soft, barely a whisper.

John closed his eyes, battling the emotions churning in his gut. For the last three weeks everything had been just normal: solving cases, running around London, irking Lestrade and Mycroft and generally living the exciting life John had come to expect.

But Sherlock had not come to him at night. John had more nightmares and worse, sometimes even waking on the floor, sheets tangled around terrified limbs. But there were never any footsteps on the stairs. He hauled himself back into bed and lie awake until dawn. It was as if Sherlock had never come to his bed at all.

Not that John could blame him. That night was still a blur, but he knew they'd gone to a strip club for a case. What happened after he couldn't say, though he was sure he'd been responsible for the bruise on Sherlock's cheek the next morning.

The mark was gone by now, at least the physical one. Sherlock shifted behind him, bringing Johns mind to the present. He could feel Sherlock's tension. Taking a deep breath, John rolled over. Sherlock's face was hidden in the darkness, but John easily found his lips, kissing him gently.

Sherlock moaned, parting his lips as John cupped his face in both hands. The truth was he'd missed Sherlock too. Not the insufferable daylight one, but this, very human, nighttime one.

He broke the kiss, wishing he could see Sherlock's eyes. "I hit you. I got drunk and hit you and did God knows what else."

Something clenched in John's heart and bitterness rose in his throat. He was a fool. Sherlock Holmes didn't care about emotions, be they love or guilt. He shoved his own emotions aside and pushed off his own bottoms. All Sherlock needed was the physical release. The words were there to coax John to give him what his body wanted.

And of course Sherlock knew John would never say no to him. Dropping a hand, he felt the wetness between Sherlock's thighs, proving he’d prepared himself. Biting back words he knew he’d regret, he still thought about throwing him out of his room. Instead he knelt between Sherlock’s legs.

Sherlock moaned in anticipation, spreading his legs wide. Tears stung John's eyes as he pushed his way inside. Sherlock hooked around John's hips, pulling him deeper. John moved on instinct, Sherlock's cock heavy between them as his hands tightly gripped John's biceps.

Neither of them lasted long. As he pulled out, John collapsed to the side, panting and rubbing his face, hoping Sherlock wouldn't see the tears. He curled up on his side, facing the window again. Sherlock could stay or go; either way he'd be gone by morning. The bed rocked as Sherlock got up. John's hands fisted, but he didn't move.

To his surprise, Sherlock returned a few moments later with a warm washcloth. He silently cleaned John before lying down behind him again, this time on his back. Shoulder’s slumping as the tension left his body, John rolled over and tucked his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. Whatever this was, wrong or right, he had missed it too.

For once, Sherlock fell asleep first. Even though he knew he’d wake up alone, John chose to treasure this fragile moment, praying against the dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> Always darkest before the dawn.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
